One of the reasons I love being home is that nothing is simple.
You would think that a simple neighborhood walk on an August afternoon would be an easy venture.
You would think that taking the dog on a walk would be a simple, no-nonsense endeavor.
You would be wrong.
Because if you're going to take the dog on a walk (partly to enjoy the afternoon, partly because he's put his head in your lap for most of the day, begging you for a reprise of your morning run the moment after it ended), then you might as well combine that journey with a trip to the local supermarket to get raspberries for the cake tonight.
So go back and look at the recipe to make sure that you've got all the ingredients we need.
Check the cabinets--double check the flour barrel--and add on one or two more items to our grocery store inventory.
Mother is coming.
So wait for mother. She's finishing up emails or something.
She has six children in various parts of the country, so she's a little bit like a distracted CEO, overseeing six different local branches of business, all clamoring for absolute attention to each one of their woe-begotten sagas. One of them has a flight cancelled the first week of her new job; another forgot his [only] suit at home; and still another is away at his first sleep-away camp, and has declared (via some wifi texting apparatus) that he misses home so much he "was a fool to ever come here in the first place."
She has a lot of emails to respond to.
Dog is impatient, so put his collar on, as a surety that this walk will, in fact, happen.
Sometime before dinner, at least.
Go play the piano.
Play the piano, because you are Improving Yourself this summer. Improving Yourself means practicing piano during the dead time that is instigating a walk and leaving the house instead of trolling through your best friend's high school photos on Facebook and leaving witty comments thereupon for her to reap the benefits of.
Stop playing in the third measure of the fourth system, because of a shriek on the stairs.
Dog has thrown up.
Why, Dog, Why.
We should have foreseen this, given the preponderance of dog farts that had been clearing rooms all day long.
Without ceremony, without an iota of concern, Dog has thrown-up all over the white carpet, and is now distressed because instead of on a walk, he is outside in the doghouse, while we clean up the mess.
Dog is barking.
Dog thinks we are going on a walk without him.
He does not like this thought.
He does not like this thought at all.
Please include me! he barks. I'm wearing my collar and everything! he barks. Don't go without me! he whines morosely, images of the two of us frolicking after squirrels without him haunting him.
Go upstairs to find an additional trash bag.
Get distracted by blogging.
Dog is back inside, licking your knee, tail wagging.
It's time It's time It's time.
Mother is catching her breath, after cleaning the stairs.
Dog looks at these two humans, impossible and intractable.
Dog begins to make more gagging noises, and we leap into actions.
Outside, grab the leash, make a mental note of grocery items needed in your head, time to go.
Dog wags his tail with glee, as he puts nose to concrete, hungry for the stray scents of squirrel or rabbit on a sunny afternoon.